Hunting the Pegasus Jinx
by starg8fans
Summary: The Atlantis expedition encounters something supernatural.  Luckily, John Sheppard knows just who to call.  Dean and Ronon centric crossover with plenty of whump for both.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN:**___ _I started posting this on my LJ more than two years ago, but never got around to finishing it. It's complete now, though, so updates will come very quickly. _

_This is set in SGA S5, with a S1 Dean thrown into the mix.  
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_Don't own any of the characters or either of the shows, more's the pity. I'm just incredibly grateful for the creative minds who thought up the likes of Dean and Ronon so I could have my wicked way with them. What can I say, I'm a whumper and it shows._

_Reviews would be awesome by the way. Just saying. :D_

"Unscheduled gate activation," Chuck sang out as the symbols flashed around the Stargate. Richard Woolsey emerged from his office, a half eaten sandwich in one hand, while the other dabbed at his lips with a napkin.

"Who is it?" he asked in a somewhat muffled voice.

"It's Major Lorne's IDC," Amelia replied.

"Lorne? But they only left about fifteen minutes ago," Woolsey mused, clearly worried now.

"Incoming audio and video," Chuck announced.

All three turned to one of the monitors that sprang to life, showing Evan Lorne's frowning face. From his posture it was obvious that he was pointing a camcorder at himself.

"Major," Woolsey said, still clutching his forgotten sandwich in one hand. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes, Sir, you could say that. When we arrived at the lab we found all of the scientists dead."

"Dead?" Woolsey repeated, while Chuck and Amelia exchanged shocked glances. "But how…"

"See for yourself, Sir."

The camera panned away from Lorne and downwards. A figure in a white lab coat lay on the floor, mouth agape. It looked dry and shriveled, and its hands were clutching at its throat.

"Wraith?" Woolsey asked. Something about the body didn't quite fit with the usual appearance of the victims of these life-sucking aliens.

"Not sure, Sir. It's hard to say with the arms positioned the way they are, but as far as I can tell there's no feeding wound on the body."

"Have you searched the facility?"

"My team is combing the rooms as we speak," Lorne replied, turning the camera back onto himself, "but they've not reported any hostile presence. And the access portal was secure when we arrived, we only got in after entering the code. No sign of a forced entry."

"Gather all the evidence you can, Major, and report back to me. I will have…"

The sound of running footsteps interrupted what Woolsey was saying, and then they heard somebody off-screen gasp, "Simmons - he's… he's dead as well!"

"What?" The camera feed showed a wild sweep as Lorne turned towards the harbinger of these dire news.

"Just found him, Sir. Same symptoms as all the others."

"Where was he?"

"In the control center. He was downloading the footage from the security cameras. Here's his tablet."

Woolsey made his decision.

"Major Lorne, assemble your team and return immediately. That planet is off limits until we know what we are dealing with here."

_Later  
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"Major Lorne was correct," Carson Beckett announced, slapping a pile of photos onto the conference room table. "No physical wounds on Sergeant Simmons to indicate a Wraith feeding, but the symptoms are very similar, except for a lower rate of desiccation. I'm baffled."

"You're just in time, doctor," Woolsey announced. "We are about to watch footage from the security cameras that was secured by Major Lorne and his team while they were on the planet. It may provide some answers. Dr. McKay?"

Rodney nodded and pressed a button on his tablet. A holographic screen appeared over the conference table. It was split into four sections, each showing a different lab with people in white coats working at their stations. Suddenly the scientist in the top left picture straightened, turned around and began to gasp. Tearing at his collar, he slowly sank to his knees and dropped to the floor where he lay writhing for a while before stilling completely. Soon after, the woman in the picture below began to hyperventilate.

"Hold it," Sheppard said, and the picture froze. "Could it be some kind of gas leak? A toxic substance that spread through the ventilation system?"

"It's a possibility," Carson admitted, "although I know of no substance that would reduce a human body to a shriveled husk such as this." He pointed at the photos he'd brought.

"And why would it affect only one member of my team and not all of us?" Lorne asked.

"Not to mention the fact," Rodney added, "that the air scrubbers in the compound are programmed to detect the slightest trace of pollutants. If there was a toxic substance, it would have triggered a subroutine of alarms as soon as it passed into the vents."

"It could be an alien substance the system didn't recognize." Sheppard wasn't willing to let go of his idea just yet.

"Nonono, you don't understand. The system is fine-tuned to a molecular level and reacts to anything it doesn't know." Rodney pulled a face. "In fact, it's so thorough we had to recall one chemist who was prone to flatulance. He triggered an alarm on more than one occasion. The methane…"

"Okay, Rodney, I get your drift," John interrupted, smirking.

"Shall we continue?" Woolsey suggested, and McKay re-started the playback.

"Whatever it is, it seems to move or spread from one room to the next," Lorne noted, as they watched the second victim fall to the ground, soon to be followed by a third who suffered the same symptoms as his unlucky fellow scientists.

"Stop," a deep vice growled. The image froze, and all eyes turned to Ronon. It was unusual for the Satedan to speak at these meetings without being prompted. His eyes squinted as he surveyed the screen. "What's that?"

"What's what?" Rodney asked, clearly annoyed a the interruption.

"That… haze hanging over the body."

All heads turned back to the screen.

"I cannot see any haze," Woolsey said finally.

"It is very faint, but I think Ronon is correct," Teyla countered.

"You sure you see something? Because I sure as hell can't," Sheppard stated.

"Actually, I've found that the people of this galaxy are blessed with especially acute eyesight," Carson volunteered. "And hearing," he added when Rodney muttered something under his breath. Ronon and Teyla exchanged a smirk.

"Yeah, McKay, right back atcha," the Satedan growled, causing the chief scientist to flush a deep shade of red.

"Let's continue, maybe it will re-appear," Lorne suggested.

"As far as I'm concerned it cannot RE-appear because it never appeared in the first…"

"Rodney," Sheppard interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Just push the damned button."

"Very well," McKay huffed, and the gruesome spectacle continued. As the last scientist sank to the floor, Rodney paused the tape again. For a moment there was silence around the table.

"I'll be damned," Lorne breathed finally, looking at Ronon with respect. The Satedan shrugged.

"Told ya."

"Okay, so there is something... cloud-like there," McKay countered with a 'big deal' expression on his face. "That still doesn't explain what happened to these people."

"It almost looks like a… ghost," Carson observed.

"Well, if that's what this thing is," Sheppard announced, "I know just who to call."


	2. Chapter 2

_**AN: **Thank you all for reading or even favoriting this story. And the review by Noelani618 made my day._

Woolsey shook his head.

"This is highly irregular. Frankly, I don't know how you managed to convince me to agree to this."

"Trust me, I've worked with this guy before," Sheppard replied, watching as the Stargate's event horizon manifested itself in the usual surge. "It's the right decision. You won't regret it."

The tall man who stepped through the gate wore the standard black uniform of the Atlantis forces, and his dark blond hair was cropped to almost military regulation length. A large and obviously heavy tote bag was slung over his shoulder. Green eyes swept the gateroom, registering every detail, and finally settled on Woolsey and Sheppard.

"I guess you're my welcome committee?"

"Richard Woolsey, commander of the Atlantis expedition. And you already know my CMO, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard."

"Name's Dean. Dean Winchester. But you already know that too." A cocky smile appeared on the newcomer's face. "Far out, man. Just when I thought I'd seen everything, here I am in another galaxy. Crying shame Sam couldn't make it."

"Yes, I heard your brother had an accident," Sheppard said.

Dean pulled a face. "Told him the floorboards were too rotten to carry his Sasquatch frame, but geek boy knew better. Found the ghost's bones we were looking for, I'll grant him that, but paid for it with a busted leg."

Woolsey's face was a study in disbelief. "Yes, well, first of all I must remind you that everything you see or hear during your stay in Atlantis is highly classified and must not be divulged to anybody. Even family."

"Too bad, actually," Dean sighed, "would have made a hell of a pick-up line."

Sheppard did his best to ignore the look Woolsey cast in his direction.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice. We have a situation here that's a bit out of our league."

"Well, if it's anything supernatural, bring it. And if it isn't, that's fine by me too. I'm a big fan of the 'Alien' trilogy, watched it at least a dozen times. If that's all space monsters can dish out, this'll be a walk in the park."

Noticing that Woolsey was opening his mouth to say something, John quickly signaled to a marine who was hovering nearby.

"Sergeant Blake will show you to your quarters. I have scheduled a briefing session in thirty minutes. The sergeant will show you where."

"Sweet. See you later then." As the two men walked off, they could hear Dean's voice, "So tell me. Any adult entertainment to be had around here?"

Shaking his head, John turned away but was stopped by Woolsey.

"Colonel, what…"

"Please, Mr. Woolsey, wait till you see him in action. He's a character, but he's brilliant at this kind of job."

"You must understand that I find that very hard to believe. And contrary to your earlier assurance, I'm already regretting that I agreed to this."

_later_

Dean's brow was furrowed in concentration as the hologram in the center of the conference table faded to black.

"And there were no marks on the bodies."

"On the body," Carson corrected him. "Major Lorne and his team were ordered out of the facility in a hurry, they only managed to bring back the remains of their team member who was attacked while they were searching the compound."

"And the cause of death was what exactly?"

Carson sighed. "Putting it bluntly, he had his life sucked out of him."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "My brother and I have run into something like that. It was a witch, a Striga. But it was corporeal, and it took several feedings until the victim was dead. This thing looks more like some sort of spirit to me." He looked around the table where the same group from the earlier video screening had re-assembled.

"How long had these scientists been working there?"

"A little over a week," Rodney McKay answered.

"Any reports about something unusual? Black smoke, cold spots, flickering lights?"

"Nothing."

"What's the history on this place?"

"History?"

"Yeah, anything atrocious ever happen there? You know, murder, suicide, violent death…"

Rodney rolled his eyes.

"This is a research facility, not the Bates motel."

Dean raised his eyebrows in McKay's direction.

"You're a real barrel of laughs, chucklehead. But trust me, this thing didn't just pop up there for sex and drugs and rock'n'roll. Vengeful spirits - and until I have more intel that will be my working hypothesis - are tied to places through traumatic experiences. So just answer the question."

"I…"

"Yes?"

"I… wouldn't know," Rodney admitted. "Look, we found an obscure reference to this lab in the Ancient database. Which, incidentally, is over ten thousand years old. All other entries were deleted. The experiments that were conducted there must have been top secret, we are still trying to get to the bottom of their purpose. From what the on-site science team had learned so far I assume it may have been connected to matter/anti-matter interaction."

"Whoa, hang on a minute… _anti_-matter?"

McKay's expression was a study in superiority. "I realize this sounds like science fiction to somebody like you, but we have seen weirder things here, I can assure you. The Ancients were an incredibly advanced race and their techno…"

"Been there, done weird, so spare me the apologies." Dean leaned over and started to rummage about in the tote bag he had brought with him to the conference room.

"What?" Rodney sputtered. "I was in no way apologizing, I was just…"

"Whatever, geek, will you shut your cakehole for just a sec while I check up on something?" Dean straightened and placed a tattered, leather bound diary on the table. He quickly rifled through the pages while a hush fell over the conference room with Rodney silently seething in his chair.

"There." Stabbing his finger at one of the pages that was illustrated by the marble bust of a bald, bearded old man, Dean turned the diary around and shoved it towards Sheppard. "Democritus. Ancient Greek philosopher and alchemist. Pretty advanced for his time. Claimed that not only the body but also the soul consisted of atoms."

"I'm aware of his work, of course." Rodney reached across and snatched the diary away from John. "Atomic materialism. I fail to see, though, how this would have a bearing on this case. Democritus never mentioned anti-matter."

Leaning back in his chair, Dean looked at Rodney with the expression of a cat toying with a mouse. "Not in the official manuscripts. But my Dad found some other sources citing stuff that at the time was dismissed as too fantastic to publish. Democritus mentions coming across a reference to something he called 'peri-matter', and claimed that it would cancel out a physical body while fusing with the soul to keep its atoms from scattering when the actual body was gone."

"Peri-matter?" Sheppard asked, looking at McKay. The scientist had a dazed look on his face.

"_Peri_ means 'against' in ancient Greek - same as anti in Latin." He looked at John in disbelief. "Don't ask me how, but he must have come across records of Ancient research. They were the only beings on earth during his lifetime who were advanced enough to know about this."

"And it looks to me as if the Ancient scientists were doing more than theoretical research in that lab of yours," Dean interjected.

"It seems so." You could tell from Rodney's face what it cost him to agree with the new 'specialist'.

"They must have been working on the practical application of anti-matter as a new kind of weapon against the Wraith."

"Yeah, and created this thing in the process," Dean continued. "Either they used some poor bastard as a lab rat, or one of their scientists didn't understand the meaning of the word 'clear'."

Sheppard nodded grimly. "And then they abandoned the lab and cleared their records of it when people started dying. Like sweeping dirt under a carpet."

"Peachy." Dean leaned across the table, took the diary out of McKay's hands and closed it with a snap. ""So much for who created this thing and why. Which begs the next question - how do we waste it?"


	3. Chapter 3

_**AN: **Thanks again for the favorites, and to clavina for the review._

_Still don't own them, but happy to play with them. Hope you enjoy part 3._

"D'you mind?"

Ronon looked up from his food tray. Dean was standing by the table the Satedan was sitting at in the mess hall, wearing jeans and a grey t-shirt, and carrying a tray of his own in his hands. Ronon shrugged and gestured vaguely towards a chair. Dean just nodded and sat down.

Not another word was spoken while the two men ate their meal. Having finished first, Ronon leaned back in his chair and watched the hunter tackle his dessert. Dean looked up.

"What?"

"Just wondering when you'll start."

"Start? Start what?"

Ronon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"You didn't sit here without a reason."

Dean grinned.

"Guess I just wanted to eat in peace. Been in meetings all afternoon. Everybody talking, talking, talking. Except for you. You never said a word." He shrugged. "Figured I'd get through my meal without having to talk any more if I sat with you."

Ronon held up his hands. "In that case - sorry for interrupting."

"No problem."

They sat in silence again while Dean finished his pie. When he was done, Ronon gathered his tray and stood up.

"Good luck with the hunt."

"Wait." Dean looked up at the tall Satedan. "Major Lorne and I are heading out to the lab first thing tomorrow morning. So I got the evening off, but I don't feel like going back to my room just yet. You wanna grab a beer, hang out?"

Ronon hesitated for only a split second. "This is a military base, alcohol's not allowed."

Dean pulled a face. "Fine, so we grab a keg of Gatorade and hang out."

Ronon grinned, looking the other man up and down.

"Or we spar first, and if you hold your own maybe I can do something about those beers."

"Kick butt first, drink beer later?" Dean stood and stretched, working the stiff muscles in his shoulders. "Sounds like a plan."

An hour later the former runner and the hunter were sitting on the South Pier in comfortable silence, legs dangling over the water.

"Awesome what you can do with those sticks, dude," Dean finally said, gratefully rolling his cold beer can over the bruise that was forming on his cheek bone. "Where'd you learn that?"

Ronon took a swallow from his own drink. "Satedan military. Basic training. Then the Wraith hunted me for seven years. Had to fight back."

"Yeah, somebody mentioned you'd been a 'Runner' before you came here." Dean looked across the water at the lights of Atlantis' towers. "So how do you kill a Wraith?" When he saw Ronon's questioning look he shrugged. "Professional curiosity."

"It helps when they're hungry. Less self healing power. A P-90 will do then."

Dean had the leather diary out and was taking notes on a blank page at the end.

"How about hand-to-hand combat? Any weak spots?"

Ronon shrugged. "Their bodies are different. Cutting their throats is no good, but running 'em through with something often does enough damage."

When Ronon paused, Dean looked up.

"Anything else?"

There was a dangerous glint in Ronon's eye.

"If you wanna make sure, chop off their heads."

Dean grinned. "Just like earth vampires. My favorite hunt." He sighed. "Too bad that's not what we're up against here. I'd love to have a stab at one of your space fangs."

Crushing his empty beer can in his big hands, Ronon muttered, "Be careful what you wish for. The Wraith tend to show up when you least expect it."

_Next morning_

"We were beginning to wonder if you'd show up to kiss us good-bye," Dean told Sheppard when the Atlantis CO, accompanied by Mr. Woolsey, walked into the gateroom the next morning. Lorne couldn't suppress a smile.

"We were in a meeting with Dr. McKay," Woolsey said stiffly, while John's eyes went to the bruise on Dean's face. "What happened to you?"

"Spent the evening with Ronon," Dean replied.

John smirked. "No need to explain. If that's all you've got to show for a sparring session with him, you're either pretty good, or he let you off lightly."

"I'm that good," Dean cocked an eyebrow in the Colonel's direction. "Guess you've gone a few rounds against him yourself."

"More often than I care to remember," Sheppard sighed. "And had my butt kicked every single time. But let's get back to business. Based on the intel you gave us yesterday, McKay was able to pull more information from the Ancient database. Which gives us a better understanding what you're up against."

"Which is?"

"As we suspected, the anti-matter experiments were designed to find a weapon against the Wraith. The computer models sounded promising, so the scientists decided to put their theory to the test. They managed to capture a Wraith…"

"… and shot the thing up with anti-matter, managing to kill off its body but not its soul." Dean shook his head. "Scientists. Dabbling in stuff they don't understand and creating havoc along the way. Or in this case, one pissed-off spirit."

"They were desperate, " Sheppard explained. "The Ancients were facing total annihilation at the hands of an overwhelming enemy. But it makes perfect sense; the thing is still feeding like a Wraith. It must be following its old instincts."

Dean shook his head, a slow grin spreading over his features. "Son of a gun. He was right. These things do crop up in the most unexpected ways." While Sheppard and Woolsey exchanged puzzled looks, the hunter turned around and clapped Lorne on the shoulder. "You just got lucky, man. Take the rest of the day off."

Evan stared at Dean. "What do you mean?"

"I'm taking Ronon instead."

"What?" Lorne cast a puzzled look at Sheppard.

"Now wait a minute, that is not your decision to make," Woolsey said.

"Oh yeah? Watch me, chuckles. I'm wearing this frigging uniform to avoid questions, and I actually find all these pockets to store stuff in quite handy, but I don't take orders from you or anybody else as far as this gig's concerned. Now, we agreed that I go in with only one other man to back me up due to the risks involved. Lorne here was the first at the scene so he was the obvious choice. But now I know that we're up against a disembodied Wraith, and you have a resident expert here who knows those suckers inside and out. So Ronon's coming with me. End of story."

For a moment Woolsey was dumb struck by the sheer power and authority that flashed from those incredibly green eyes. Then he heard Sheppard's voice.

"I must say he's got a point there, Sir."

Looking from the hunter to the Colonel, Woolsey was torn between bowing to their operational expertise and reasserting his own authority. His train of reasoning was interrupted by a deep voice behind him.

"I'm ready."

Turning around he saw Ronon, fully equipped for a mission. The Satedan walked over to stand next to Dean, and the two of them shared a brief look and a quick nod. Then they turned towards Woolsey.

No further arguments were necessary. Everybody in the gateroom felt the unspoken connection between the hunter and the former runner. As different as they were on the outside, they shared something primal, an almost feral quality, that made them a natural team.

Unwilling to give up just yet, Woolsey said, "I still feel a military presence during this operation would be…"

"Oh, absolutely," Dean interrupted him, "since ghost hunting is such an integral part of their job description."

Dean's flippant mask was back in place. But Woolsey had caught a glimpse of what lay behind it, and he could not deny a feeling of respect towards the young man.

Sheppard had a hard time keeping a smirk off his face, but he knew it would have been counter productive. Instead, he added, "Given that Ronon is a member of my team, sir, I would say he as good as qualifies on that count."

Woolsey realized that there was only one way for him to go, if he did not want to come across as stubborn and unreasonable. Clearing his throat, he addressed Lorne. "You may stand down, Major. I cannot deny that killing Wraith is second nature to Ronon. He's the logical choice."


	4. Chapter 4

_**AN:** Sorry for the wait with the upload. RL is really hitting hard lately, and I was just too exhausted. Not sure how often I'll be able to update over the weekend either, got a lot of plans._

_Hope you're still enjoying this. Special thanks to Noelani618 who has not only reviewed every chapter but made some very good suggestions. You rock, girl!_

"What's in the bag?" Ronon asked as he entered the security code into the touch pad by the lab's entrance.

"Oh, this and that, stuff that we found works when fighting fuglies."

"Such as?"

"Well, apart from some heavy duty firearms: rock salt, iron, holy water, silver bullets, brass knives. Plus wooden stakes, chalk, candles - that kinda thing."

The portal opened with a hiss, and Ronon cast a skeptical look at the hunter. "You think any of that can kill a Wraith ghost?"

Dean shrugged. "Exorcising spirits is hardly ever clear cut. Often trial and error is the only way to figure out what will gank one. Sometimes old legends or superstitions can give you a hint. But not even my genius little brother could dig up info on this thing, since it's probably the first and only one in this or any other galaxy. Anyhoo…" He reached into a pocket in his tac vest and pulled out a small black plastic box with a row of little light bulbs along the top. "… before we start figuring out how to kick this bogeyman to kingdom come we have to find it first."

Ronon pulled out his blaster, ready to enter the facility. Dean gave a low whistle.

"Cool piece you're packing. What kind of bullets does that baby take?"

Ronon twirled the heavy gun around his finger. "No bullets, just energy. It has two settings, stun and kill."

Dean grinned. "Could be worth a try taking a pot shot at this thing. I don't expect local spirits that are descended from bugs will bat an eye at being doused with holy water or read a Latin exorcism. That's Christian lore."

He turned on the little gadget in his hand and motioned towards the entry. "After you."

The lights in the corridor flickered on as they entered. Ronon cast an appreciative glance at his companion.

"What?" Dean asked. "With all the high tech mojo around here motion sensors should be a given."

Ronon shook his head. "This technology only reacts to the Ancient gene. You must have it too."

"Hey, I may be almost pushing thirty but my genes are as good as new, thank you very much."

If Ronon had been the kind of person to roll his eyes, he would have. "Not 'old' gene, but 'gene of the Ancients'. It's like a key to operate their technology."

"Sweet," Dean exclaimed, but then his face fell. "Does that make me a geek?" He shook his head. "Wait till Sam hears about this. But don't tell Woolsey I said that," he added, pointing a warning finger at Ronon. "He'd read me the riot act, make me swear on the graves of assorted ancestors not to prattle about your secret ops here. Not even to my baby bro."

"I won't." At this point, Ronon had had more than enough of talking and was hungry for action. "Where to?" he asked.

"The control center. That's where the last victim bit the dust. I should be able to get the clearest EMF readings there."

"EMF?"

"Electro-magnetic frequency. Spirits leave it behind like dandruff. And this little beauty here can detect it. Built it myself," Dean said proudly.

They moved through the compound, Ronon with his gun at the ready, and reached their target without mishap. Dean scanned the room.

"That's weird." He shook the EMF detector, and turned it off and on again. "I should get some kind of reading, but zilch."

"Maybe it's broken."

"Yeah, or this Wraith ghost uses the local version of Head & Shoulders." Seeing Ronon's puzzled look, Dean added quickly, "Never mind. Let's check the other rooms."

Dean turned to go, when he heard Ronon's shout, "Get down!" Instinctively, the hunter dropped to the floor and rolled to the side. He heard a brief whine as the blaster powered up, and then the burst of the weapon's discharge. Looking back to where he had just been standing, he saw something white and cloudy flicker into a roughly human shape before it slowly melted into the wall.

"Thanks," Dean said as he sat up. With a grimace, he rubbed his shoulder.

"You okay?" the Satedan asked.

"Fine." When Ronon kept staring at him, Dean explained, "I tried to stop Sam from falling during our last hunt, but he's built like a… kinda like you so he pulled my arm right out of its socket. It's still a bit sore." He tentatively rotated the joint. "No damage done. Guess I got lucky." Getting to his feet, Dean added, "You must have laser vision, dude. I didn't see a thing."

"It was the uniform. The haze showed against the black."

"I reiterate, lucky me." Pointing at Ronon's weapon Dean asked, "Did you see how our ghost became more visible as you shot it?"

"Yeah. Is that important?"

"You bet it is. But it also means that this…" Dean held up the EMF detector. "… is useless."

_Later_

"So this thing feeds on energy," Ronon said with a frown as they were walking down a corridor towards the main lab.

"Yup," Dean replied, adding with a look at his companion, "You seem remarkably cool with it. It's rare that we find people who believe this kind of mumbo-jumbo at face value."

Ronon shrugged. "The Wraith feed on life force. Same thing."

"Bingo. And that's why our ghost will be a bitch to track. It doesn't leave an EMF field behind because it soaks up all the electro-magnetism around it - getting stronger the more snacks it finds."

"It only showed up on the tape after it had fed on those scientists," Ronon mused.

"Damn straight."

"And when I shot it…."

"It was like serving it with a supersized Happy Meal. You saw what happened."

Ronon nodded. "It took on shape."

"Exactly. So better keep your hands off your blaster, hotshot. We don't want to make this thing any more powerful than it already is."

"It could do more than suck us dry?"

Dean pulled a face. "Sadly, yes. Trust me, once spirits manage to manifest themselves they take it to town. I've been thrown across a room, pinned to the wall, even slashed from a distance."

"So if I can't shoot it, how do I fight it?"

Dean pointed at Ronon's sword that was sheathed in its usual place across the Satedan's back. "Try that pig poker of yours. Iron is one of the few things that can stop earth ghosts. And salt. Which is why the rounds in this baby..." He brandished the sawed-off he was now carrying in his hand rather than in the bag, "… are filled with rock salt."

Ronon stared at the hunter. "Salt kills ghosts?"

"No, it doesn't kill them, only dissolves them for a while. But believe me, that can come in mighty handy to keep them at bay until you figure out how to gank the sucker for good - pun intended."

They had reached the main lab, and Dean cast a thoughtful eye over the rows of humming, blinking equipment.

"Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" he finally said.

"What?"

Dean waved vaguely at the Ancient consoles and monitors. "There's enough juice in this room to light up a small town. Why is our Wraith ghost not using it to become the resident version of the Stay Puffed Marshmellow Man?"

Ronon shrugged. "Wrong kind of energy?"

"I don't think so," Dean mused, stooping to pick something up from the floor. "It's been pretty indiscriminate in its choice of chow until now. People, blaster shots, and…" He handed the two small cylinders he had found to the Satedan, "… even batteries." Ronon noticed that both ends of the AA batteries showed some corrosion. In the meantime, Dean had looked around the room. "Okay, we gotta be able to figure out this thing's hiding place. If you were a ghost with a thirst for energy, where would you set up camp?"

Ronon caught on immediately. "The generators."

"Got it in one. Any idea where they would be in a place like this?"

"Center of the compound, underground."

"Okay. And that would be where, exactly?"

For an answer, Ronon stepped up to one of the consoles and waved Dean closer. A control panel lit up as the hunter approached. The Satedan pushed a button, and the panel went dead. Frowning, he turned towards the hunter and noticed that he had retreated a few steps. Dean's impish grin faded away under the scowl from the Satedan.

"Sorry, couldn't resist, it's just so damn cool."

He came to stand next to Ronon who was now able to pull up a map of the installation on the screen. "We're here," Ronon said, pointing to two luminous dots and then moving his finger across to a circle. "Access to the lower levels should be through here."

"Awesome," Dean admitted. "Now tell me, Archimedes, what other info you can get from this panel."

Ronon pulled a face. "I'm no scientist. There are only a few words I recognize in the scrips of the Ancients. McKay mentioned them during debriefings."

"Seems like you paid attention in class at the right time. Any other pearls of wisdom you picked up from Dr. Clever McGenius?"

"Mabe. We'll see." Ronon glared at his teamate. "But don't tell McKay I actually listen to him."

"Tit for tat, your secret is safe with me," Dean assured him. He turned back to the display with its intricate network of rooms and corridors. "He didn't happen to mention what the 'print screen' button looked like, did he?"


	5. Chapter 5

_**AN:** Thanks for all the alerts and favorites, and to Neko-Akira-chan for the review. It's so gratifying that you seem to enjoy this._

_I'll be away the rest of the weekend, so no update tomorrow. And no new Supernatural episode tonight either. *sniff*_ _Well, at least there's fanfic._

"Are you sure we're still on the right track?" Dean asked, as another stairwell opened up before them.

Ronon shrugged. "The schematic only showed one floor. It didn't say how many levels below."

"Peachy, so there's no telling how far underground the generator chamber is," Dean groaned. "I sure hope we find an elevator to give our asses a lift, climbing all these stairs is gonna be..." Dean broke off and stared at the wall where it met the ceiling.

"What's interesting enough to stop your whining?" Ronon asked.

Dean threw a death glare in his direction. "The proper term is bitching, okay? I don't whine." Then he pointed at the thick bundle of cables that ran along the corridor. "I think I've figured out why our ghost isn't snacking on all this energy in the labs."

"And why is that?"

Dean grinned triumphantly. "It doesn't have enough substance yet to touch or move anything. As long as the electricity is contained in a cable or machine, it can't get to it."

"But it left through the wall after it attacked you."

Considering this for a moment, Dean had an answer to this puzzle as well. "The cables and machines are encased in metal. Seems our ghost can't Genie himself through that. And that is good news for our mothers' sons."

"Because….?"

"Because iron should work against it. Sweet."

"For now." Ronon cast a wary eye at his blaster. "What happens if it gets strong enough to pull out cables or open panels?"

"That's the moment we beat a strategic retreat. After chick flick moments the 'dead hero' gig is my least favorite… Shit!" While he was talking Dean's breath had solidified and now hung in the air in a frozen cloud.

"What…" was all Ronon managed to say, before an amorphous white shape rose in front of him, a snakelike appendage reaching for his chest. The next moment a charge of rock salt scattered the thing, but the blast flung Ronon backwards, and before he was able to regain his balance he was rolling down the flight of steps, coming to rest at an awkward angle against the wall at the foot of the stairs.

Muttering a string of select curses, Dean ran after his companion, kneeling down by his side.

"Ronon? You okay, man?"

The question was answered by a groan, and the Satedan's eyes opened a slit. "I'm alive."

A trickle of blood was slowly oozing from a cut at his hairline, but the wound appeared to be superficial.

"Can you sit up?" the hunter asked.

Instead of a reply, Ronon held out his hand, and Dean pulled him to a sitting position. The movement made the Satedan gasp, pressing his hand against his rib cage.

"Bruised, cracked or broken?" Dean asked matter-of-factly.

Gingerly probing the bones, Ronon pulled a face as he replied, "Makes no difference. I can handle it."

"A man after my own heart," Dean smirked, dropping down next to him. "Might as well rest our bones for a minute and feed our metabolism. Something tells me we're getting close, and I don't fancy facing this thing on an empty stomach."

Rummaging in the pockets of his tac vest, he pulled out a plastic bag and offered it to Ronon. The Satedan looked suspiciously at the content.

"That's not a military ration."

"No way, I wouldn't touch those with a ten foot chopstick. It's some good ol' beef jerky. Try it."

Accepting one of the leathery slices, Ronon stuck it in his mouth and started chewing. Then he stopped and looked at Dean.

"This came from Earth?"

"Yup," Dean replied, his mouth full. "Why?"

"I know this. It's dried meat, right?"

The hunter nodded. "You have it here as well?"

A faraway look had appeared in Ronon's eyes. "My grandfather showed me how to make this."

"Your folks keep cattle?"

"No, but he taught me to hunt." The ghost of a smile was playing over Ronon's lips as memories came back, prompted by the salty taste on his tongue. Dean saw his dreamy expression, and for a moment envied him his innocent childhood. For him, the word 'hunt' had always always implied evil and danger, not an outing with gramps. But then he remembered the constant menace of a Wraith attack, and he realized that Ronon too had grown up under the menacing shadow of a constant threat.

The two men finished their snack in silence. Ronon was the first to get to his feet. Impatiently wiping at a trickle of blood that had seeped into his eyebrow, he suddenly paused and cocked his head. "You hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That humming sound. We must be getting close to the generators."

Dean sighed. "Finally."

_A little later_

"Wow." The heart of the generator room was a large, metallic sphere, suspended in mid air and revolving slowly around itself in a cat's cradle of cables and pipes. Dean turned to Ronon, who had not spared the impressive setup a single glance, instead scanning their surroundings for signs of their attacker.

"I'd bet my Impala against a soap box that our Wraith ghost is down here somewhere. You feel it? The air's practically crackling with static. It's probably feeding off it as we speak.

"So? What do we do?" the Satedan asked.

"We shut it down."

Ronon cocked an eyebrow in Dean's direction. "Are you serious?"

"Like a heart attack. We pull the plug on this baby, there's no more juice for the sucker. And once it's starved and desperate enough we come back with a lead container, bait it with some batteries, and seal it in there forever. Problem solved."

Ronon pulled a face. "It won't be as easy as it sounds."

"Damn straight. It never is. So much for going back up in an elevator." Dean looked around the chamber. "Then of course there's the hitch that I have no clue how to turn this thing off."

A feral grin spread across Ronon's face. "We could blow it up."

"I like your thinking," Dean admitted, a similar grin splitting his face. "But counter-productive in this case. We want to cut our disembodied friend off from energy, not serve him the kind of boost an explosion would provide."

He walked over to the main console and studied the display. "Do these symbols mean anything to you?"

Ronon came to stand next to the hunter and looked at the Ancient writing on the panel.

"This one means STATUS," he said, pointing to a label under one screen with his right hand, while his left indicated another one. "And this one means POWER."

"Interesting," Dean observed. Next to the POWER sign there were four sliding levers. He looked up at the taller man and sighed. "Why do I always have to be the short one on a team," he muttered, adding, "Never mind," when he saw the Satedan's puzzled expression. "Now, an educated guess says forward is more power, backwards is less."

Ronon nodded. "Makes sense."

"Okay, here goes." Slowly but steadily, the hunter pulled all four levers backwards until they rested at about the center of their grooves. The big metal ball began to slow its revolutions, and the frequency of the hum dropped a notch. The two men exchanged a nod.

"That's my baby," Dean said and reached for the lever again. This time there was no warning. The Wraith came out of nowhere, and it had indeed grown stronger. The hunter went flying to the side, away from the controls. He rolled across the floor and regained his feet with catlike grace, just in time to see Ronon swing his sword through the misty shape that was hanging in the air. The ghost dissipated, and Dean gave the Satedan a thumbs-up.

"Nice!"

But in the next moment he felt himself bodily lifted up and thrown clear across the room, where he crashed into the main console whose housing cracked under the impact. Sparks flew while Dean tried to shield his face with one arm, the other lying limply by his side. Ronon saw the ghost streak along in pursuit, reaching one shadowy arm towards the hunter, who was still draped across the controls. But instead of going for the young man's life force, the Wraith attached itself to the broken cables and greedily began soaking up the current that was crackling at the severed ends. Its shape became more pronounced as it fed, and this fact galvanized the Satedan into action. Gritting his teeth against the stabbing pain in his cracked ribs, his sword described a wide arc and neatly cut the shape in two. This time, however, he felt some slight resistance, and the ghost let out a shuddering moan as it dissolved into nothing.

Breathing heavily, Ronon went to check on Dean, who was struggling to sit up.

"Son of a…" the hunter gasped, his right arm clutching his left shoulder. "Not again." Ronon could tell from the awkward angle that the joint had been dislocated.

"I can set that for you," he offered.

"Only if you know what you're doing," Dean groaned. He had managed to push himself to a sitting position, cradling his useless arm in his lap.

Ronon shrugged. "Set my own shoulder a couple of times."

Dean cast a glance that was hazy with pain in his direction. "You don't mess around, do you?"

"Nope." Ronon pointed to the ground with his sword that was still clutched in his hand. "Lie down."

Only then did he notice that the blade showed splotches of some kind of black goo. Ronon touched it gingerly with a finger tip, but before he had the chance to ask the obvious question, Dean was ready with the answer.

"Ectoplasm."

"What?"

"It's what spirits leave behind after they manifest themselves." The hunter pulled a face. "That's so not good. The thing's getting more substantial. We really need to cut it off from its food supply." He turned towards the console. Some security protocol had obviously cut the power, because it was dark and no longer sparking. "Looks like this thing's toast, though. Any idea where we could find a back-up access panel?"

Ronon scanned the room. "Let me fix your shoulder, then I'll have a look around."

"If you insist." With a sigh, Dean lowered himself to the floor and stretched out on his back. Ronon bent down and grabbed his left hand. Then he put his foot on the hunter's collarbone, and bracing himself against what this movement would do to his banged-up ribs, he gave one quick yank on the arm.


	6. Chapter 6

_**AN: ** I'm back so updates should resume their regular schedule._

_Plenty of whump for both boys ahead in this one._ Hope you're still enjoying this fic, even thought the reviews have petered out. *hinthint*__

Dean only managed to half bite back a scream as the joint re-aligned itself. Breathing through the initial agony, he noticed gratefully that the pain kept subsiding until only a dull throb remained.

"You okay?"

Opening his eyes, the hunter saw Ronon squatting next to him.

"Fine," he replied, experimentally moving his left arm. It still hurt like a bitch, but at least its mobility was back. "Good job, thanks," he said to the Satedan, who just nodded.

"Can you sit?"

Instead of an answer, Dean raised his good arm, and allowed Ronon to pull him up and to help him settle against what was left of the control panel. With a clank, a silver flask fell from the hunter's pocket. Ronon raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"It's not what you think," Dean replied. "It's holy water. Works well against earth spirits since they got the whole unholy crap going for them. Don't think it'll do much good here. Must have pocketed it by force of habit."

"Hmmmm…" Ronon had a thoughtful look on his face.

"Would you care to elaborate on that?" Dean prompted.

"Do you have any salt?"

"Okay, now it all makes sense," Dean quipped. "Yes, of course I have salt. No self-respecting hunter ever leaves home without it. It was also in those shotgun shells that took care of our whispy specter in the stairwell."

"Maybe it can do even more than that." Settling himself more comfortably on the ground next to Dean, Ronon began to explain. "The Wraith evolved from a blood-sucker called the Iratus bug. It fed on humans and built their genetic information into its own DNA. One of them attacked Sheppard once during an off-world mission. It was before my time, but Teyla told me about it. The jumper got stuck in the gate coming back, so his team tried all kinds of stuff they had at hand to get the thing off him, and salt water worked best."

Dean had remained silent, only half surprised by the fact that Ronon could be quite eloquent if he wanted to. He had played the all-brawn-no-brains type himself often enough not to recognize it in somebody else. But now he interrupted the Satedan's discourse. "Salt water? You're shitting me."

"I'm not."

"Do you know if anybody ever tried if Wraith are also allergic to it?" Dean's brain was working a mile a minute trying to analyze the implications of this information.

"Not that I know of."

"It's certainly worth a try once this space fang becomes more solid." Dean slapped the Satedan's shoulder. "I knew you were the right choice to take on this gig."

With something close to a grin Ronon rose to his feet. "You stay put for now and rest your shoulder. I'll go look for another control panel."

"Do you want me to strap those ribs for you?" Dean's sharp eyes had noticed Ronon wincing ever so slightly whenever he moved. The Satedan seemed embarrassed that he had betrayed himself.

"It's nothing," he said gruffly. "But we should probably wrap that shoulder of yours."

"Nah, I'd rather have full use of both of my arms, thank you very much."

The two men looked at each other for a moment, before they both broke into grins.

"I'll be right back," Ronon said.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Dean quipped.

Ronon cocked an eyebrow in his direction. "Is there actually something you wouldn't do?"

"Touché."

As soon as Ronon was out of sight Dean pulled himself to his feet and walked over to the tote bag. Rummaging through the contents, he extracted a bottle of Ibuprofen, a package of salt and a cold pack. After taking three pills and washing them down with a swig of holy water, he filled a generous mesure of salt into the silver flask and re-pocketed it. Finally he picked up the cold pack, kneading it to start the chemical reaction, and put it against his aching shoulder. He sighed in relief as the soothing chill seeped into the sore joint.

As there was no sign of Ronon yet, Dean started to walk up and down, keeping his eyes peeled for the Wraith ghost, and occasionally testing his shoulder's mobility. The cooling properties of the pack were doing their job, reducing the swelling in the tissue so moving his arm became less and less painful.

When Ronon returned Dean had discarded the pack and packed the bag, ready to leave.

"Any luck?" the hunter asked, but Ronon shook his head.

"I didn't see anything that looked like it controlled the generators."

Dean's forehead creased as he tried to figure out what their next step should be, but Ronon wasn't done yet. "I found something else, though - the elevators."

"You aiming for the old 'good news-bad news' routine?" Dean asked.

Ronon shrugged. "You're the one who was whi… bitching about climbing those stairs."

Dean smirked. "Point taken. And I guess we've exhausted all possibilities down here. Maybe we find something up in the labs that'll help us trap our elusive friend."

Ronon nodded. "Fine by me."

He led the way around a few corners to a wall that housed two sliding doors, and a touchpad between them. Dean put his hand against it, and both doors opened.

"You figure these things are safe?" Dean asked. "From what I gather they haven't seen a maintenance guy in several thousand years."

"Only one way to find out," Ronon said, stepping into the cabin on the left. He bounced a few times on the balls of his feet, then turned towards his companion. "Looks sound to me. Why don't you…"

That's as far as he got before the doors slammed shut.

"Ronon!" Dean called out, trying in vain to pry the doors open, completely oblivious of the shooting pains his efforts caused in his shoulder. He heard a humming noise from the other side and knew that the elevator was ascending. A moment later a scream of pain echoed down the shaft.

With a curse Dean jumped into the other cabin. Looking around frantically, he saw a metal panel, one of its buttons showing a pyramid. Taking it as the universal sign for 'up', he slammed his palm down on it, and saw with relief that the doors closed and his own cabin started to ascend as well.

The ride only took a few seconds, but to Dean they seemed like hours. When the doors opened again, he catapulted himself outside, praying that the other cabin had not stopped at some point on the way up. It hadn't, but the sight that met his eyes stopped him dead in his tracks for a moment. Ronon was lying on the floor, deathly pale and barely conscious with the Wraith ghost kneeling over him, his hand on the Satedan's chest, its head thrown back in ecstasy as its body feasted on the sustenance its victim had to offer. Ronon's right arm was raised, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, but he appeared to lack the strength to pull it.

Almost instinctively, Dean reached for the silver flask in his pocket, unscrewed the top and flung the content at the flickering Wraith spirit. The result was everything he could have hoped for. Small holes appeared in the shadowy body, growing larger and larger until the screaming and writhing Wraith once more turned into a cloud of mist and disappeared through a crack in the ceiling - leaving behind a pink powdery residue.

Filing this fact away for later use, Dean knelt by his team mate and the breath hitched in his chest. Where the hand of the ghost had rested on Ronon's left pecs, a hole had been burned right through the shirt, and the flesh underneath was raw and bleeding.

A low moan escaped Ronon's throat, and his eyelids fluttered as he tried to stay conscious. When his right hand moved towards the wound in his chest, Dean quickly grabbed and stilled it.

"Don't touch it," he said.

Ronon's eyes flew open when strong fingers seized his wrist, but he relaxed when he saw the hunter's concerned face in front of him.

"How many..." he gasped "… how many years… did it… take?"

"Relax, you look nothing like Lee Marvin yet."

"What?"

"Sorry... None that I can see. Apart from a more Snowhite complexion you're the same as before."

Relieved, Ronon let his heavy head roll to the side and closed his eyes again. Dean took the opportunity to have a closer look at the wound. His brows knotted in confusion. The flesh did not appear to have been scratched or bitten, instead it looked as if it had been eaten away by acid.

Ronon was moving again, trying to sit up, but Dean stopped him.

"Whoa, easy there, Chewie, let me take care of this before you go loping off."

But Ronon shook his head. "Gotta get… out of here," he insisted. "Like a… trap."

Dean had to admit that his team mate had a point. Pulling Ronon's right arm over his shoulder, he maneuvered the taller man upright and half dragged him out of the elevator cabin.


	7. Chapter 7

_**AN: **I have to correct my earlier information that this is S1 Dean. Rather, it's early S2 since events are mentioned in this chapter that took place in 'In My Time of Dying'. One of my all-time favorite episodes._

The hallway that the elevator opened into had a bench along the side, and that's where Dean deposited Ronon. He then retrieved the tote bag from where he had dropped it in his own elevator cabin, and pulled out the first aid kit. Tearing open a sterile gauze pack, he pressed the material against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

Ronon hissed when he felt the pressure on the wound, but made no move to pull away. He'd had to patch himself up often enough during his years as a Runner, he knew what had to be done, and he was grateful that somebody else was doing it for him.

After a couple of minutes Dean removed the pad. Only a few scattered drops of blood were still seeping from the wound. Grabbing a bottle of disinfectant, he said matter-of-factly, "This is gonna sting."

"Do it," Ronon replied through clenched teeth.

Putting a restraining hand on the Satedan's chest, Dean poured a liberal amount of the liquid over the wound. He felt Ronon's muscles tense under his grip, but he made no sound. Just one single tear leaked form his tightly closed eyes and disappeared into the dreads at his temple. Giving his team mate a moment to recover, Dean opened a pack containing a non-stick burn pad to cover the open wound, liberally coating it with antibiotic ointment, then cut strips of medical tape to hold it in place. When Ronon opened his eyes again, Dean quickly put on the dressing and taped down the sides.

"You okay for now?" he asked the Satedan, eager to start his examination of the strange powder the ghost had left behind.

"Water…" Ronon croaked.

"Of course." Fetching a bottle from the tote bag, Dean helped the injured man to take a few sips. The liquid further revived Ronon, and eased his scratchy throat so he could ask the question that was foremost in his mind.

"Why didn't it drain me?"

"Guess I got there just in time, and the salt water worked like a charm." Handing the water bottle to Ronon, Dean stood up. "I need to check something out. Will you be okay on your own for a bit?"

"Sure."

"Here, just in case." He pushed the flask with the rest of the salt water into Ronon's hand.

Knowing that Ronon was resting as comfortably as their situation allowed, Dean returned to the elevator. Squatting on the floor, he used a piece of paper from his notebook to scoop up some of the pinkish powder the ghost had left behind. Something niggled at the back of his mind, telling him this was important. Bringing the paper up to his nose, he sniffed the residue - and pulled back in disgust, images of rotting corpses flashing through his mind. Slowly the ghost's behavior, and his thirst for energy started making sense.

"Found something?"

Ronon's voice so close behind him made Dean jump. Turning around, he saw the Satedan leaning in the open elevator door.

"Man, next time cough or something, you almost gave me a heart attack," Dean said, running his eyes over the tall figure to assess Ronon's condition. There was a bit more color in the Satedan's cheeks, but he still cradled his left arm in his right to keep the pressure off his chest.

"You were gone quite a long time, so I thought I'd check on you."

Holding out the piece of paper, Dean said, "I found this stuff our fugly left behind. And I think I'm beginning to put two and two together."

"And?"

"Not yet. I need one more piece of intel to see if my theory holds water. We gotta get back to the labs and the dead scientists. You fit to move?"

"I'm good."

In spite of this claim, the walk over to the main lab took its toll on Ronon. Sweat was beading at his hairline, and he was slightly swaying on his feet when they arrived at one of the bodies. Without commenting, Dean pulled up a chair and more or less pushed the Satedan into it. Disregarding the glare Ronon sent his way, Dean knelt by the desiccated corpse, and couldn't help a triumphant smirk forming on his face. The corpse had similar, but more superficial wounds all over his body as the one Ronon sported.

"How did you know?" Ronon asked.

"That stuff the spirit left behind," Dean replied. "It smelled like decaying flesh. And then I remembered something I'd read in Dad's journal." He pulled the book from an inside pocket in this tac vest. "The entry about antimatter also mentions black holes, that they're created by supercharged antimatter. It attracts regular matter, leaving a void around it. I figure this sucker was gorging itself on energy to jack up the antimatter binding its soul enough so it could pull molecules from human bodies to rebuild its former self."

"You saying it's using my…"

"It's using your molecules as Lego blocks to construct himself a meat suit, yes," Dean finished the thought for him

Ronon growled low in his throat, seething at the thought that a part of him would be used to bring one of these vile creatures back to life, "So how do we stop it?"

"We don't."

"Come again?"

Dean's expression could only be described as that of a cat that had a mouse by its tail. "This, my friend, is the moment that The Plan comes together - capital T, capital P."

_A little later_

"So what's this plan of yours?" Ronon asked. They had moved a short distance away from the gruesome sight of the body and were busy replenishing their own energy levels with food and water.

"We make sure our friend gets the energy and the body mass it needs to put himself back together, and then we chop off its head."

"You're gonna use these corpses as bait?"

Dean sighed. "I wish it was that simple." He stuffed half a granola bar into his mouth and started to chew. "Did you notice the wounds on their bodies?" he asked, voice partly muffled by the food.

Ronon nodded. "They're superficial, hardly deeper than the skin."

"Exactly." Dean took a sip of water to wash down what was left in his mouth. "I don't know if it's because our ghost drained these poor souls of energy earlier, or if they're just too ripe, but it seems he needs live tissue to finish up his conversion."

"Not volunteering," Ronon said with a smirk.

"Don't worry, I won't let him snack on you again," Dean reassured him, "but I'm gonna ask for a donation from you anyway."

"A donation?" Ronon's eyebrows almost rose to his hairline.

"Yeah, about a pint of blood each should to it."

Ronon nodded. "You're gonna lure it out of hiding with fresh blood…"

"Yup, and when it shows we pump it full of energy so he sucks it all up in one gulp, becomes mortal - and whoosh, he's history."

"So back to the generator room?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. Neither of us has enough energy to spare for all those flights of stairs, and after your experience I'd say we give the elevators a miss. We should be able to find something suitable in here."

Throwing the granola wrapper in the general direction of a trash can - and nailing it - the hunter ran an appraising eye over the equipment that was stacked around them. His gaze settled on a machine resting in a cage that had large yellow labels on each side.

"Lemme guess - does that say 'high voltage'?

"No, but the symbol means 'caution'," Ronon replied.

Dean smirked. "Sounds promising."

Picking up the massive cable leading to the machine, the hunter gave a low whistle.

"Given that size of this baby I'd say it's packing one mean punch." He looked at the panel where the cable disappeared into the wall. "Now please tell me there's a circuit breaker right there."

Ronon had joined Dean, and his sharp eyes had noticed a switch next to the panel. He threw it, and the machine began to hum. Flipping it back, the noise stopped.

"Yatzee," Dean exclaimed. "Now all we need is the proper bait."

Ronon fidgeted with his water bottle. He didn't know why he had this sudden urge to share his innermost thoughts with this man he hardly knew. The close encounter with the Wraith spirit must have rattled him more than he had first thought. "I'm glad we don't have to use these bodies," he finally admitted.

"Really." Dean was busy trying to detach the cable from the machine housing. "Can't say I care. Comes with the territory. Did my first salt-and-burn when I was eleven." For a brief moment Ronon regretted having spoken so freely, afraid that Dean would see it as a sign of weakness. But when the hunter straightened up, there was only compassion and understanding in his eyes as he looked up at the tall Satedan. "Why does it bother you?"

Ronon hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. "My people honor the dead, especially those whose lives were taken by the Wraith before their time." He met Dean's searching gaze without blinking. "It would feel wrong to feed them to this thing, even if it helped us put an end to it."

Approaching his team mate, Dean put a hand on Ronon's shoulder. "There is one thing I have learned in the time I've been doing this job," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And that is that the soul moves on after death. Where to, I can't say for certain. But what you see here are only empty husks. The people who used to inhabit these shells have long gone to a better place where no monster can reach them ever again."

Looking into the hunter's green eyes, Ronon saw the sincerity and the empathy that was buried deep under Dean's snarky and tough exterior. He swallowed.

"You really believe that."

"I do. And I got it straight from the horse's mouth." Dean turned back to the cable, but Ronon wouldn't permit him to end this conversation so abruptly.

"Who told you?" he asked. Dean hesitated for a moment, his hand rubbing distractedly at a barely visible scar that ran down the middle of his forehead. "It was a reaper," he finally said. "A sort of - messenger who comes to fetch the souls of the dead, help them move on."

Ronon frowned. "But… where did you meet one of those? You didn't die."

"No," Dean sighed. "I didn't. Somebody else died instead." Taking a deep breath, he looked at Ronon, and the green eyes held a silent plea not to push him any further. So Ronon just nodded, took the cable from Dean's unresisting fingers and ripped it from its housing.

"Let's kill this thing," he growled, "and the sooner the better."


	8. Chapter 8

_**AN:** So here it is, the conclusion. Thanks so much for sticking with me until the end, and an even bigger thank you with a cherry on top to everybody who's left me a review. They really make my day._

Quickly, the two men set up the trap for the elusive Wraith spirit. Dean found a large beaker and set it on the floor, within easy reach of the high voltage cable. He also moved a few metal cabinets closer for them to hide behind, before pulling a long, wicked looking blade from the duffel bag. Ronon pointed at the machete type weapon.

"You will do the honors?"

"Yup," Dean replied. "You zap it, I cap it."

Ronon's eyebrows arched. "And what makes you think you should be the one to deliver the killing blow?"

Stopping in his tracks, Dean turned slowly to face the Satedan. "It's my knife."

"I've got a sword," Ronon pointed out.

"It's my plan," Dean insisted.

"It's my galaxy," Ronon countered. "And anyway," he looked Dean up and down, "are you sure you're up to it with your damaged shoulder?"

The ghost of a smile played over Dean's lips. "I was about to ask the same question, considering your bruised ribs and torn chest."

"I fought with worse," Ronon replied with a scowl.

"Well, same here," Dean shot back.

The two men stood glaring at each other, neither willing to back down.

"Fine," Dean finally growled. "We'll settle this like men."

"Really? You want to fight me?"

Dean looked genuinely taken aback. "Whatever put that idea into your noggin? We're gonna throw rock-paper-scissors. There's nothing more manly than that. But first things first."

Putting the weapon on the floor, Dean rummaged through the duffel bag and extracted a couple of pressure bandage packs from the first aid kit. Throwing them to Ronon, he pulled a smaller knife from a sheath on his ankle and made a quick cut across his lower arm, letting the blood drip into the beaker on the floor. As the level in the glass rose slowly, Ronon got one of the pressure packs ready.

"Don't overdo it," he warned Dean, but the hunter shrugged him off.

"Better err on the side of caution. I want this to work on the first try."

Ronon estimated that about two pints of blood had dripped into the beaker, when Dean turned his arm around and held it out for Ronon to put the pressure bandage on. His face had paled somewhat, but his eyes sparkled at the prospect of the impending kill.

Despite Ronon's protests Dean would not let him contribute as much as the hunter had, since Ronon had already lost quite a bit of blood during his earlier encounter. Wrinkling his nose at the metallic smell that was filling the air now, Dean quickly wrapped the pressure bandage around Ronon's arm to stem the bleeding.

"We better hurry. Our ghost must be salivating already, and I wanna bet…"

That's how far he got when one of the heavy metal cabinets toppled over and fell in Dean's direction. With reflexes that were only marginally slowed by pain and blood loss, Ronon dove for the duffel bag, extracting the bottle of salt water, and hurling its contents in one fluid motion at the ghost that had risen from behind the fallen cabinet. But the Wraith appeared to have learned its lesson. With superhuman speed it evaded the liquid and disappeared around a piece of machinery.

Ronon was torn between following the specter and checking on his team mate, when a low moan coming from behind the fallen closet made the decision for him. Stepping around the end of the piece of furniture, Ronon saw to his relief that most of it had missed Dean. Only his right leg was buried under the cabinet - but Ronon's breath hitched when he saw a puddle of blood spreading from under the hunter's midriff at an alarming rate. Stepping closer and dropping to his knees, Ronon breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that Dean had knocked over the beaker during his fall, and that the blood didn't come from an open wound.

Meanwhile Dean was trying to push himself up from the floor, but Ronon put a restraining hand on his back.

"Stay down, your leg is trapped," Ronon warned him. "I'll find something to use as a lever, and…"

"No!" Dean's hand clamped down on Ronon's wrist like a vise. "No time. He'll be back." He broke off when the small movement made the bone ends in his broken leg grate against each other. A wave of pain shook his body, and he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth until the agony that ran up his leg was once more contained in his throbbing calf. "We gotta… stick to... the plan." Taking a deep breath to chase away the black veil that was starting to crowd his field of vision, Dean pointed at the power cord. "Gimme that."

With a nod, Ronon picked up the requested cord and put the end in Dean's fist. It was just long enough. "Now scam," the hunter panted, "and remember… don't throw the… switch until it's… close enough…"

Ronon nodded again, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. "You okay?"

Dean almost replied with his usual 'peachy', but then he saw the look of concern and determination in Ronon's eyes. "I'll make it," he said instead, in answer to Ronon's unspoken question. Then he watched as the tall Satedan rose to his imposing height and disappeared from view.

Dean dropped his head and rested it on his forearm. The relentless pressure on his broken leg provided an exquisite agony that had him fighting to stay conscious. Gripping the electric cord to ground himself, he forced his breathing to even out, determined to hang on.

Ronon looked with concern at the way Dean's head slumped to the ground. From where he was positioned against the wall he could not tell if the hunter was still conscious. Everything depended on whether Dean would be able to perform his part of their scheme. Not to mention the fact that he might get electrocuted if the cable slipped from his grip. Ronon was almost tempted to go and check on the fallen hunter when he saw the ghost again. It was approaching slowly, carefully. He didn't know if he was imagining it, but it appeared to be sniffing the air. Then it reached Dean's immobile body, and Ronon tensed, ready to throw himself at the thing if it made a move to hurt his companion. But the Wraith ghost only had eyes for the blood on the floor. Reaching out with a trembling hand, it put its palm into the puddle, once again throwing its head back in ecstasy.

This was the moment they had been waiting for. Praying that Dean was still conscious, Ronon threw the switch. A spark erupted from the end of the cable, and in the next moment Dean had pushed the severed end into the ghost's body. The Wraith stiffened and started to jerk like a puppet on a string. The next moment, there was a rushing sound, and the blood on the floor disappeared as if it had been sucked up by a giant vacuum cleaner.

The next moment the lab was thrown into darkness, and Ronon's heart almost stopped. They must have overloaded the circuits - how was he going to find his prey now? Luckily after only a few seconds - that seemed like hours to the Satedan - the emergency generators kicked in and a row of orange lights flickered to life along the ceiling. In their light, Ronon saw the Wraith. It was on its feet, swaying slightly, a dazed expression on his face. Then it lifted its right hand and looked at his palm, an expression of rapture on its face. That was all the confirmation Ronon needed. With a motion that was as natural to him as breathing, he pulled his sword from the scabbard at his back and swung the heavy blade in an arc that neatly severed the Wraith's grinning head from its shoulders.

The head bounced a few times before it rolled to a stop by Dean's side. The hunter took one look at the Wraith's face and recoiled as far as his trapped position allowed.

"Man, you never told me how fugly these fuglies are," he gasped.

Ronon dropped to the ground next to Dean. He was glad their plan had worked, because he wasn't sure he would have been able to fight the Wraith off again. He cast a doubtful look at the heavy cabinet pinning Dean down.

"You have to give me a minute until I can get this off you," Ronon admitted.

Dean shook his head. "No way, you've done enough today. Time to call in the troops, I'd say."

When Ronon started to protest, Dean continued, "I'm not going anywhere under my own steam on this gimp leg, and I'll be damned if I let you carry me out of here like a swooning beauty. Lorne has had enough time off, let him do what's left of the heavy lifting."

_Two days later..._

A deep belly laugh caused Sheppard and Woolsey to turn around, just in time to see Dean hobble into the gateroom on his crutches, followed by Ronon who was shaking his head and still had the biggest grin on his face. It really was a shame the hunter would have to leave them so soon, Sheppard thought. He was surprised how much the usually so stoic Satedan had opened up around him. But Woolsey felt that Dean - in spite of his successfully completed mission - was too much of a disturbance for this expedition, and was glad to see him go back to Earth. Carson had cited medical concerns, but they fell flat when Dean checked himself out of the infirmary after the first night.

"Ready to go home?" Sheppard asked the hunter.

"You know what, this place isn't half bad," Dean replied, grinning up at Ronon. "But I think it's about time I check up on baby bro. We can be cast buddies," he added, knocking on the plaster around his right leg.

"Yes, it is unfortunate that you were injured on this assignment," Woolsey commented. "But I have made provisions that you receive the sick pay a soldier wounded in combat is entitled to."

"That's mighty civil of you, thank you," Dean said.

"It's the least we could do. We are in your debt, you have rid this galaxy of a great threat."

"Well, it wasn't just me, I couldn't have done it without my buddy here." Dean turned to Ronon, holding out his hand. "Seriously, it was a treat working with you. If you ever get tired of this gig, let me know, we could use somebody like you on our side."

Ronon grabbed the offered hand in a firm shake. "You honor me. But my team and my fight are here."

Dean nodded, the familiar smirk back on his face. "Probably a wise choice. There are things to being a hunter that suck donkey balls. But," he added, turning to Sheppard and Woolsey, "one of the perks is seeing another monster bite the dust. Gentlemen, it was a pleasure."

"Likewise," Sheppard replied. Then he nodded at Chuck to dial the Gate.

As Dean hobbled towards the open wormhole Ronon called after him, "Make sure you hide all the sharpies!"

"Will do!" Dean called back over his shoulder, and then he disappeared into the shimmering event horizon.

"What was that all about?" Sheppard asked Ronon.

"Dean told me what he drew on his brother's cast while he was asleep," the Satedan explained. "Now our friend's afraid of retribution." He looked at Sheppard with a big grin. "As they say on your planet, payback's a bitch."


End file.
